


All Revved Up & Nowhere To Go

by Ladelle



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13105680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladelle/pseuds/Ladelle
Summary: Tim dips out of prom early - and definitely doesn't expect Jason Todd to pick him up.





	All Revved Up & Nowhere To Go

**Author's Note:**

> My Secret Santa for @assclass-more-like-assholeclass! 
> 
> I had a bazillion ideas to fit your prompts and this one ended up being pretty fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!

Tim watched the dance floor with tired eyes, the world around him glowing and kaleidoscopic. Brilliant stretches of colored cloth draped across the banquet hall, pearl-colored streamers tangled in their folds – and the lighting, dim and sheathed by decor, made the space look like a sprawling neon storm.   
  
“ _ Oh my god _ ,” Cassie said, emerging from the fray, her coiled up-do loose with curls. Her cheeks were flushed and her dress wafted like starlight – a swathe of dark blue powdered in tiny beads of glitter that caught every bit of flickering light. “Why aren’t you  _ dancing? _ ”

Tim, sitting in relative darkness at one of the abandoned tables, opened his mouth to comment – but lost his words to the sight of a hand curling around Cassie’s waist from behind.

“Have you  _ seen  _ Tim dance?” Conner Kent laughed, slipping next to Cassie, pulling her closer by the hip. The red in his cheeks climbed to her ears and she bit her lower lip, looking like a girl swept up and into a fairytale, all magic and stardust, paired with a real-life knight in shining armor.

“Ha ha,” Tim replied, with no real bite. It gave him the opportunity to take in Conner’s appearance for the umpteenth time; slicked back hair, sleek rented suit, a boutonniere that could pass for a small, fledgling midnight sky – and dark, warm eyes and impossible dimples and squared shoulders that made Tim shift uncomfortably in his chair.

Conner said, “This dance was  _ expensive _ – come on, dance with us,” and he held out a hand, looking brilliant and kind and smiling like as he always smiled, ever since they’d first met in first grade.

Tim saw it though, the way that Cassie’s grin wavered, just for a moment; he’d been friends with her for nearly as long and knew what this night meant, and thought, blandly, that this was what it felt like to be a third wheel.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Tim prompted, rising from his chair with casual grace. He was good at acting when he wanted to be, and so he donned an easy smile and shooed them off. “Have fun. I’ll find you later?”

Conner’s brows did that  _ thing _ , the one where he was trying to read between the lines; it meant he suspected Tim might be lying but couldn’t quite get to the heart of it – but Cassie, unaware, let out a startled gasp as a slow song bled into the room.

“I love this one!  _ Oh my god _ , we  _ have  _ to dance–” and Tim watched her long, slender fingers curl around the cuff of Conner’s sleeve as she took a few steps backwards, beckoning him back to the lazy, romantic sway.

Conner gave Tim a questioning look as he was tugged backwards, and Tim, being Tim, offered a wry two-fingered salute. And then Tim turned, not really wanting Conner’s lingering attention, equally burnt out of watching anymore awkward, budding adults practice the twelve-inch rule.

Sighing, he set off.

Around the hall, music reverberated. It was a gust of notes competing with the soft breath of air conditioning, interlaced with the tinkling sound of silverware against china as some prom-goers finished their desserts. Laughter spilled from unexpected places, and small clusters of girls stood off the the side, grinning as they stood, barefoot, heels dangling from their hands.

They were pretty.  _ Everyone _ was. It felt likes a spell had been cast over the bargain bin populace of Gotham High, a Cinderella-like magic that gave the gift of spilling gowns and golden crowns, pearled cufflinks and lavish silk ties.

And Tim, stepping into the bathroom and pausing in front of the mirror, wondered how one could look the part and still somehow  _ not _ fit in.

Dark hair, combed back.

Bright eyes, too blue against the paleness of his skin.

A suit, all sharp edges, all business – just like his dad. How could anyone put on a suit and have it feel like anything  _ but? _

Throwing on the tap, Tim doused his hands in water and ran them back through his hair, loosening the gel that held it so rigidly in place. It came apart like rebellion, and he thought, if his reflection were in a magazine, it would be  _ fashion _ . Here – amidst a dance set on formality, he simply looked undone.

When the door opened behind him, ushering in a handsy couple, Tim made up his mind.   
  
Prom – it just wasn’t for him.

There was no enchantment to boredom, no real magic in celebrating high school to begin with.

Slipping out was easier than it should have been; dipping past teachers as he tugged his tie loose felt less like stealth and more like escape. The ground buzzed with bass-line as Tim weaved between elegant, draping pinafores and glitzy tulle dresses, bumping shoulders with grinning athletes holding cups that reeked of contraband liquor.

One of Conner’s teammates caught Tim’s eyes and tried to say  _ hi _ , but Tim was already halfway out the door, pulling his phone from his pocket.

_ I’m sorry, but can you come pick me up? _

Tim typed the text as he walked, his eyes scanning the hotel’s lot. It was packed to the brim with cars, and Tim lamented the fact his dad was one of  _ those  _ dads – one who was making him work to save to buy his own.

His phone vibrated and Dick replied:  _ Already? _

The sound of Tim’s shoes scuffing pavement almost seemed to echo. A couple of times, the front doors to the hotel opened behind him and he was caught in a sudden, sweeping draft of outpouring music. Against his neck, the notes seemed to chase him, as if trying to lure him back.

_ Yeah, _ he typed another text to Dick. For measure, he added,  _ I’m bored. _

While it was true, it wasn’t the _entire_ truth. _That_ had more to do with a crush long withered that somehow still had roots and, every once in a while, chose to remind Tim at incredibly inconvenient times.

_ Why was Conner Kent so impossible to get over? _

The question haunted him, even though the answer was simple.

Because no one else  _ knew  _ him like that. No one else knew his favorite movies by heart, could recite quotes back and forth with practiced ease. No one else really  _ got _ him, or knew what he’d gone through years back, when his mom had passed and his dad had lost it and Tim had spent nearly every other night climbing out of his window and clambering into Conner’s car, where they drove off and into the night, telling tall tales of where their lives would take them.

Tim had always thought they’d be side-by-side...

...but sports and tech scholarships didn’t really go together and that meant none of their college applications matched up.

With a sigh, Tim glanced down at his phone, where Dick had sent the message:  _ I’m sending Jason _ .

Tim froze.

“Jason?” he asked aloud. No one was close enough to hear, and there definitely wasn’t anyone nearby to diffuse the definitive confusion in Tim’s tone.

Jason.

_ Jason _ .

Dick’s younger, somewhat-recently adopted brother, all leather jackets and quick wit – the type of guy you didn’t just  _ talk  _ to, because one sharp glare meant murder. Even though Tim wasn’t feeling prom, this alternative left him feeling a bit like:  _ I’m too young to die _ .

He’d never been  _ alone _ with Jason, much less shared more than a muffled  _ hello _ , when Jason had dropped by the diner to complain to Dick about something, only to catch Tim in the storeroom instead. And, from unintentional eavesdropping, Tim had only learned a whopping  _ three  _ things: one, that Jason was less than two years older than him; two, that Jason had been to juvie, and three: that he apparently liked  _ literature _ which, when looking at him, made absolutely  _ no _ sense.

Not that Tim wasn’t an advocate for  _ not _ judging books by their covers, but Jason’s cover was pretty  _ Mad Max _ , and _Pride and Prejudice_ just didn’t seem to fit the bill.

He was an enigma, really.

But Tim supposed that he was as well.

It took a few rounds of pacing before Tim got a text, and for a split second, he thought it might be Dick. Instead, it was Conner, asking where he was – which, for a moment, stoked that pitiful little undying fire until Tim made the conscious choice to snuff it.

_ Tried to find you _ , he lied, before adding:  _ Headed home. Have fun. _ It earned a slew of replies; Conner asking again where he was, then asking why, then asking if he was okay.

And Tim – he didn’t answer right away because he was annoyed. He typed out and deleted  _ just go dance _ three times before rolling his eyes, but the delay was a mistake; Conner came  _ looking _ for him, and Tim was an idiot, standing on the hotel’s sidewalk in plain sight.

“Hey,” Conner said, and Tim noticed that Cassie wasn’t with him, which, really, didn’t mean much of anything. Conner had a knowing look when he said, “You’re bored, aren’t you?”

Tim took that and ran with it because it wasn’t entirely untrue. “I’m dying,” Tim said. “But seriously, go have fun.”

The expression that crossed Conners’ face was unfamiliar – not guilt, but close. He said, “It’s not...it’s not because of me and–” and was forced to stop, his words overlapped by someone else’s voice.

“Oi, Timmers. We got a date, or what?”

Tim frowned just before tossing a look over his shoulder, completely caught off guard by the fact that Jason was pulled over less than ten feet away, hazard lights flashing in a no-parking zone, eyes glued to Tim as he leaned across the middle consul and into the passenger seat.

“Who is  _ that _ ?” Conner asked, bewildered.

And Tim, having lost all sense of self-preservation for the sake of what felt like an opportunity, replied, “My date.”

Conner’s brows crinkled in concern.

“Tell Cass I said bye,” Tim smiled. Before he’d realized it, he’d turned and when his fingers met with the cold metal of the car’s handle he glanced back, offering Conner a small, departing wave.

Tim didn’t wait for a rebuttal before he pulled back the door and slid inside, the seat cool through the fabric of his pants. As he drew the seatbelt across his chest, he lifted his gaze, catching Jason’s eyes on his boutonniere, on the suit – on Tim’s general state of formal disarray.

“Can I help you?” Tim asked, because Jason seemed like the type you had to hold your own to and not give an inch.

The question earned a quirked eyebrow, and under the glow of the interior lights, Tim learned fact number four: Jason’s eyes were green. They were also intense, and even though Jason was  _ barely _ older, his jawline was sharp, giving him an expert glare that Tim suspected could compete with his own.

Flicking off the car’s emergency lights, Jason leaned between them to grip the shift and tapped the gas beneath his foot. The engine hummed happily, anxious for him to release the clutch.

“All revved up with no place to go,” he sang, voice low and teasing.

Tim couldn’t help but feel like it was a pass at his attire, but his response came before he could really digest. “Meatloaf?” he asked. “Really?”

It was satisfying to see Jason look even the smallest bit surprised. “ _ I was nothing but an all-American boy– _ ”

“Could you not?” Tim interrupted, flattening invisible creases in his lapel. Then, to no one in particular and born from complete bewilderment, he asked, “ _ Meatloaf?” _

“ _ Classic rock _ ,” Jason emphasized, and he finally let off the clutch, giving his car the opportunity to peel out of the lot.

When the seatbelt didn’t constrict, Tim found himself clutching the edges of his seat. He could feel Jason’s eyes on him, but when he peered over, Jason was quick to look away.

Tim said, “Prom,” like that explained everything.

“I can see that,” Jason replied.

“What else do you see?” Tim asked, because sarcasm without sarcasm was tragedy.

Jason caught him completely off guard, however, when he said, “That the boutonniere I bought for you looks good.”

Tim parted his lips, completely prepared for some smart-mouthed reply, only to close them, bewildered. “You...what? Dick bought me this.”

Saying it was embarrassing; it was enough that he hadn’t had a  _ date _ , but his dad had forgotten the damn boutonniere (because he had a knack for forgetting anything  _ important _ ) and so Dick (his boss), acting as the older brother Tim didn’t have, had surprised him with a brilliant little burst of red orchid.

“Correction.  _ I _ bought it,” Jason stated, “because Dick would have bought a fucking  _ carnation _ .”

As Jason cut off a car with little to no remorse, Tim asked, “Is that bad?”

“In France, they give them out at funerals,” Jason remarked.

Tim was unimpressed. “I mean,” he said, “that kind of  _ felt _ like a funeral.”

Jason snorted, then threw his head back as he grit out, “ _ Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper _ –”

“Stop–”

“– _ baby, take my hand, don’t fear the reaper, _ ” Jason continued, his grin carrying into the lyrics as he lifted his fingers from the stick-shift and motioned to Tim,  _ come hither _ – and Tim felt a heart-pounding rush of panic as he reached for Jason’s hand and forced it back down, fingers unintentionally interlacing in the process.

“ _ Baby, I’m your man, _ ” Jason practically hummed, and Tim could feel heat rise on his skin at the unexpected lyric. When Jason’s eyes darted over at Tim’s sudden quiet, he laughed, loud and honest.

In revolt, Tim jerked his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest, irritated. For the umpteenth time, he thought,  _ I just want to go home _ .

But Jason, before his humor really even faded, asked, “So really, though. Why’d you cut out early?”

“Of the dance?” Tim asked, his head lulling Jason’s direction. He wasn’t really sure why Jason would be interested in the first place.

As they entered a darker stretch of highway, shadows played across the dashboard, folding across the seats with each rare, passing light. Headlights beaded the distance, and Jason’s looked like foggy breath over old, cracked speedway.

“It couldn’t have been  _ that _ bad,” Jason said.

“Did  _ you _ go to prom?”

“You can’t just  _ ask  _ people if they’ve gone to prom, Tim,” Jason countered. His fingers were loose against the wheel when he chuckled and said, “I missed it.”

“Missed it?” Tim questioned. Then the pieces fell together. “Oh, yeah. Because you were in…” but the words trailed off. It felt like being caught knowing a secret, and he shook his head and returned his attention to the road. “You didn’t miss anything, to be honest.”

Jason smirked. “You afraid to say it?”

Tim wasn’t sure  _ what _ he was. It hadn’t really occurred to him, until now at least, that he’d been picked up by someone who’d been incarcerated – and it wasn’t as if he had a  _ clue _ what Jason had done.

“You were arrested,” Tim stated.

Jason sighed, and it sounded almost wistful. “Yeah. And it turns out there’re no winter formals in juvie.”

“What did you do?” Tim asked, eyes wandering the blackened spills of shadow between street lamps.

The question caught Jason as funny. “What do you think I did?”

At that, Tim  _ did  _ look at him, humorless. “How would  _ I  _ know?”

“You know a lot more than you let on,” Jason pointed out, and Tim wasn’t really sure what to make of that. He was frowning when he said, “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”

His tone came across clipped, and so Jason noticed – and Jason was still smirking when he glanced Tim’s direction again. It gave Tim the impression that Jason didn’t really care if Tim knew or not, but that he liked to tease.

“A truth for a truth,” Jason said. “I’ll tell you my dirty past, and you tell me the haunting story of _Prom_ _Night_.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but Jason was already talking.

“My dad, he was a pretty cool guy,” Jason said. “Super smart. Stole the  _ shit _ out of cars – taught me. I picked the wrong one though – belonged to  _ the  _ Bruce Wayne – got caught.”

Tim absorbed that – saw Jason in a new light. The way he sank into the seat of his car, the way his fingers fell loose over the gear shift, the way he seemed  _ at home _ in the driver’s seat. Tim could only imagine him joyriding.

“Did you race?” Tim asked.

Jason’s eyes looked like fire. “When I knew I wouldn’t get caught.”

Tim hummed in thought. It seemed fitting, somehow. Even sitting, Jason seemed to emanate energy; he was all moving lines and forward momentum.

“So,” Jason pressed. “Let me guess. You couldn’t stay because they kept playing  _ Despacito _ on repeat.”

That earned wry look. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a Belieber.”

“Oh no,” Jason’s gaze drifted skyward. “He didn’t mean it.”

Tim looked up, following Jason’s gaze. “Who are you talking to?”

“Jim Morrison. He’s up there, and he heard you say that.”

_ “Take the highway _ ,” Tim said, a quickened verse with only a hint of melody,  _ “to the end of the night _ ...” and when Jason looked at him, Tim said, very pointedly,  _ “Despacito _ .”

Whatever Jason had expected, it wasn’t  _ that,  _ and so he ended up laughing,  _ hard _ . He tossed furtive glances Tim’s direction, shaking his head all the while – and, as they passed a heady strobe of a low-sitting street lamp, Tim happened upon fact number five: Jason had freckles that fell like constellations over his skin.

Tim said, “My best friend and I are going to go to different colleges.”

And it took a moment for Jason’s laughter to dim a bit, for him to think on what Tim had just said.

“You decided this on the dance floor?” is how he replied.

Tim huffed, scraping fingers back and through his hair. Warm air blasted from the car’s heaters, and so he slowly began to work off his jacket around the restriction of the seatbelt.

“I don’t really believe in long distance things,” Tim decided to say. “There are other factors as well, but...I guess, it’s hard for me to enjoy these moments because it seems stupid. They just feel like  _ the end. _ ”

The thought sat a bit heavy, and Tim felt like an idiot as soon as he said it.

“ _ The end _ ,” Jason pronounced dramatically, which made Tim scowl. “If you tell me that my boutonniere didn’t get  _ one  _ dance because you were too busy pining over philosophy–” he glanced over, pinning Tim with a searching look. And then, when Tim looked defeated, Jason said, “You have  _ got _ to be kidding me.”

Tim shrugged. “It was  _ boring!” _

“Where’s your inner Whitney? Didn’t you just wanna dance with someone?”

Tim sank low in his seat, arms folding across his chest, a bit petulant. “No one wanted to dance with  _ me _ .”

_ That _ had a marginal effect – in fact, Tim’s seatbelt failed to restrain him as Jason nearly screeched to a halt, pulling over onto the side of the road. The world smelled like burnt rubber and gasoline, and Jason jammed the car into park.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, as Jason fiddled with the dial on his radio. A thousand songs battled for dominance as he surfed, until he paused on a slow, sultry song that sounded like something from a diner jukebox.

When Jason lifted his attention to Tim, he was serious. “May I have this dance?”

Tim said, “ _ What?” _

But Jason licked his lips and Tim couldn’t help but notice, and then Jason was shifting – unlatching his own seatbelt in order to get out of the car, making his way to Tim’s side. He rapped on Tim’s window, to which Tim slowly, anxiously rolled down the window.

“No.” Tim said, before Jason could even ask again, but Jason dipped low and rested his elbows on the ledge of the window, close enough now that Tim felt the uncomfortable sensation of butterflies in his stomach.

“Dance with me,” Jason said, and Tim thought it was odd, how much he felt like he could just  _ go along _ with it. After all, it didn't seem like Jason would let him  _not_. So he was moving before he realized it, opening the door with reluctance – quickly tugged out by Jason who, Tim realized, was nearly a head taller.

“This is ridiculous,” Tim said, stumbling over gravel on the road’s edge. It didn’t keep Jason from dragging him to the front of the car, where dirt tangled with the headlights and ghosted long, pouring light. A car drove by, making Tim feel self-conscious, but Jason’s fingers laced with his and drew him close in a way that made Tim think that he hadn’t had much practice on the dance floor either.

The music came, soft and slow. It didn’t fall heavy like in the hotel; it drifted and sauntered, folding out and into the night.

“Fun, right?” Jason asked, and Tim peered up at him dryly. It wasn’t  _ not _ fun, it was...silly.  _ Different. _ Jason’s hands were warm, and when one of them dropped to Tim’s waist, he felt the heat through the thin fabric of his button-up. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he’d left his jacket in the car.

“Next time we’ll have to wear matching colors,” Tim said.

“You could just wear leather.”

“There are dress codes, Jason,” Tim mentioned. “Save  _ Indiana Jones _ for Comic Con.”

Jason stepped forward, bringing them closer, until Tim felt like he might be able to breathe Jason in.

“Are you asking me on a date, Timothy?”

It was simple banter, but it  _ did _ something. Tim felt his heart pick up and he cursed his existence – his quick wit struggled to surface, until he finally asked, “And who would I be? I can’t pull off Sean Connery.”

“ _Let my armies be the rocks and the trees and the birds and the sky…_ ” Jason quoted, managing a perfect impersonation.

This time, Tim laughed. “Okay.  _ You _ can be Sean Connery. I’ll be Indiana.”

Jason said, conspiratorially, “We named the dog Indiana.”

Shaking his head, Tim pulled away as a song the song changed, feeling remnant warmth and a bit lightheaded. He was tired, and Jason was hard to keep up with.

“So,” Jason prompted, stretching his arms high enough that his shirt lifted above the waistband of his denims. “How was Roadside Prom?”

From the car, a commercial blared, and Tim laughed again as he rolled his eyes. Then, very seriously, he said, “Kind of disappointing. Prom usually comes with dinner.”

It occurred to him, only after he’d said it, that it  _ definitely  _ sounded like a proposition, but before he had time to properly panic, Jason sighed.

“Well, I  _ do _ know this diner…”

Tim narrowed his eyes just before deciding to tap his chin in thought, caught up in Jason's pace.

“My adoptive older brother owns it. It’s like, a pretty big deal…”

“Hmm,” Tim hummed.

Jason added, “And actually, there’s this part-timer that works there and to be honest, I always try to drop by when I might see him, but he doesn’t seem to have, you know, a regular schedule. Probably because of school. Preparing for  _ the end _ and all of that.”

“ _ What _ ?” Tim asked.

(Fact number 6: Jason apparently had a thing for Timothy Drake.)

“Do you want a burger or not?” Jason asked, headed back to the car.

Tim wondered if he could pass the flush off as cold, or if Jason would see right through him. He also recounted all the times he’d seen Jason, all the unnecessary refills, the way Jason’s gaze had seemed cutting, when it was entirely something else.

“A milkshake,” Tim said slowly, turning, feeling on fire - spontaneous.  As he tugged open his car door, his eyes danced up to Jason, whose gaze sauntered back.

“A milkshake,” he agreed.

Tim felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, not entirely surprised to see a text from Conner letting him know that he and Cassie were leaving and that he hoped Tim was okay - and also,  _ who was that guy? _

Tim wasn’t too sure how to reply, but he thought about what Jason had said - about things ending, and happened to look over to Jason, who was fiddling with radio stations, trying to find his way back to something recognizable.

Change wasn’t bad.

 Actually, it kind of felt like a new beginning.

 


End file.
